On The Mend
by norielit
Summary: No society is perfect, and fool's gold is meant for the fools who can't tell the difference. Not for those who can. G1-ish. Partially pre-war, partially war's-just-starting, partially on Earth.
1. Prologue

Originally, I wasn't even sure if this was going to be continued. Now, though? Now it's mutated to the point that it's not even recognizable as wat it was originally supposed to be. The actual first chapter ought to be posted soon enough - I've finished a little more than four/fifths of it, and I'm planning on finishing writing it tonight. So, it really just depends on whether or not I decide to seek out a beta reader for this (which I'm seriously considering) and how long it takes them, should I decide to.

Most of the characters don't show up in this prologue (and the ones that do are unnamed.) Acutually, most of them won't show up for a couple of chapters - and be forewarned - the list of characters is likely to grow. I've written the basic plot of what's going to happen for the first six chapters, but past that... Well, more characters are likely to show up. This list is just those who I'm currently planning on having in the first six chapters.

Title: On The Mend (01/??)  
Characters: Perceptor, Springer, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Jazz, Prowl, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Twin Twist, Topspin, Broadside, Sandstorm, Optimus Prime  
Summary: No society is perfect, and fool's gold is meant for the fools who can't tell the difference. Not for those who can.  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them. I am, however, playing around with the society they live in.

* * *

The first thing he realized was that it was loud. There was the deep boom of arguing mechs and the high-pitched screech of someone crying. But it was so far away – he was alone. Well, no, not alone – the Others were just over there, he could see them easily through his normal eyes, but they weren't right next to him, touching him. They should have been – he wanted them to be. But they weren't, so he needed to get them over here. How to get their attention, though? The Others were so focused on each other that only being louder than them would make them pay attention to him. Except for one, who was quiet, as though without the right to speak, but still didn't even glance in his direction.

He tries to be loud, but he's not good at it. So they don't notice and by the time one of them turns back to him, as though suddenly remembering the fact that he existed, he's terribly tired. Not asleep, because he should have a designation by now – needed one before resting. That was the first thing the ones like him were told, or so the Quiet Other told him as he was carried from the First Place to the Second Place. But his creators didn't want him, said something was wrong with him and that they refused to name a glitch. The Quiet Other said he'd have to find his own designation. When the Quiet Other placed him on the floor in the Second Place and left, he was unsure what to do. He looked around and settled his optics on the only other person in the room. Not one of the Others, but one like him – small and dazed and lost.

A soft chirp filled the air, sounding so lonely as it hung hesitatingly in the air. The Similar Other snapped bright-blue optics towards him. Another sound filtered unerringly from his voice module, more like a buzz than the previous chirp – a call in the odd form of communication that wasn't _quite_ a language. As though unsure, the Similar Other edged closer to him, showing a paint scheme predominately green. The Similar gave a short whistle, as though begging him to answer a question, and halted his progress forward. He gave another buzz-call, sounding and feeling hopeful that the Similar would come closer – he wasn't quite able to work out how to move forward yet.

And then the Similar Other was there, moving forward in one huge leap. He gave a startled cry, the garbled sounds echoing loudly in the room. But the Similar didn't do anything else like that, just scooted closer and chirred, pleadingly. How long, he wondered, had the other been here? And then – did the other have a designation, unlike him? He didn't think so – if the Similar had a designation, he would already know it – stating ones designation was the customary greeting.

The small, red sparkling leaned comfortingly into the slightly bigger, green sparkling. Two of a kind, forming a bond, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, despite each having extremely violent core programming. Though none knew it, it was but a sign to come.


	2. Chapter 1

It's paritially before the war, partially after the war's started but before they've gone to Earth and partially on Earth. Because, apparently, I can't make up my mind. Note that not all the characters listed have shown up yet, and all the characters who might show up aren't listed (they just keep wiggling their way into the story!)

Title: On The Mend  
Series: G1-ish  
Characters: Perceptor, Springer, Ratchet, Prowl, Jazz, Sandstorm, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Topspin, Twin Twist, Broadside, Red Alert, Inferno, Wheeljack, Optimus Prime, (probably) Dead End, Groove, Wildrider, Vortex, Breakdown, and Motormaster.  
Summary: No society is perfect, and fool's gold is meant for the fools who can't tell the difference. Not for those who can.  
Warnings: Ah...Corruptness? Gangs? Children fending for themselves? Angry mechs, bitter mechs, scared mechs? ...The building of life-long friendships?  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. I think Hasbro does (though I'm not entirely certain...)

* * *

**10.8 Million Years Ago**

There is a silence in the hallway that seems to drop the temperature to a near unbearable level, slowing the energon running through his veins. It always that way in this part of the hospital, where those deemed 'dangerous' were kept until they can be removed. Technically, he shouldn't be here. He works with sparklings, and they aren't dangerous – except for now, when they are.

The reason for this can be identified in one word that floats relentlessly through his processor – Decepticons. Only they _aren't_, he keeps telling himself. Just because two sparklings have been born with warrior builds didn't mean anything. Not a thing – but it was still so very, very cold. Freezing, even though he tells himself it's all in his head, the temperature is the exact same as in any other part of the building… But the other areas are alive with mechs and femmes wandering through the halls, comforting those who needed it, celebrating with those rare ones there for a joyous occasion – like the birth of a sparkling (only the last two have _not_ been happy, and reports from other hospitals across the globe told the same story.)

This section though, _this_ section is as silent as the grave, and he realizes that his thoughts are beginning to take on a circular pattern. That is bad, that means he's nervous, and they rare just sparklings. Sparklings who have been made his responsibility – to feed, to name, to play with, to _care for_ – until a place can be found to house them.

And he is staring at the door to the room he had placed the small, red, confused (so very confused…) sparkling earlier. It boggles his mind – two of them, at the same time, same hospital, taking on their final shapes so very close together, time-wise. There is no reason for it. (Unless there is. There must be, but it isn't his job to find out. He was just the newest worker in the sparkling center, so this… task had been delegated to him.) Still, here he is, and the sparklings – he will have to give them designations soon; he can't just call them 'the red one' and 'the green one' – must be hungry. They'd have slept by now, despite the lack of designations.

So he enters. Of all the things he had expected, the squeal (was that _really_ joy?) had not been it. Nor had he expected the green one to fling himself from his seat – curled up half beside and half _on_ the red one – towards him. Really, the sparkling didn't get very far, but to be able to move so early on in its lifetime…

He moves forward and picks the green one up. And speaks, with something like a smile seeming to be approaching his mouth plates (because, now that he sees them, is holding one, they are _just_ sparklings, who love him despite all his misgivings towards him, despite the fact that they don't _know_ him, just that he's there and will take care of them, how can he do anything but love them back?)

"Well then, little one, I think that – with that little stunt as a demonstration – I'll call you Springer."

**9.4 Million Years Ago**

Prowl is not a spy. Not really, no matter what Jazz and Mirage and Hound say. Yes, he operates in that capacity quite often, since he's one of the few mechs in their 'family' that isn't automatically a suspect for most crimes (despite the fact that he's actually one of the few that _should_ be a suspect.) But he's not a spy. It's just his model that lets him work so effectively as one, and if things keep up the way they have been that might not be so helpful soon.

Not that it really matters. The sheer number of plans he's created for this instance is staggering, even for him. It is such a complicated situation they are in that he actually has to use his battle computer at something close to full power (okay, it was only around eighty-seven percent, but he'd never _had_ to take up that much power before.) His family will be fine – none of them will allow anything else.

Which was why he is here, standing in a crowd, listening to Sentinel Prime's speech. Because he needs more information before he an give the others the best plans of action, and he has to get the information himself. One of the others would have been able to gather the information, technically, but the littlest detail can completely change the outcome of a plan, and the others just didn't know what to look for the way he did. And then… then there was the fact that he _was_ a police model, supposedly devoted to justice and the good of everyone (here, mentally, a snort sounds, because the only ones he cares to _protect and serve_ are his family. Anyone else is just… unimportant.)

To any observer, Prowl is completely caught up in the words being spoken by the Prime – and the black and white is. After all, this is the mech he might end up serving, any information on Prime would be helpful. The Prime speaks of seeking peace, of making things _right_ (Prowl doubted it was possible. Too many wrongs have been committed by all sides against the others. Some things are just unforgivable; some things _can't_ be made right.) With a small shake of his door wings, Prowl turns.

He turns, and approaches the recruiter to sign up for the Autobots. Because, even though he is not a spy, right now he _is_.

10.1 Million Years Ago

When a Cybertronian is given his designation, the designation is one that offered some sort of insight into them, either personality-wise or physically. Following tradition, Perceptor and Springer were named in the same style. Springer's name, quite obviously, came from his physical capabilities. Perceptor's – also quite obviously – came from his perceptive nature. Nice, easy to understand names, especially for those who knew them. Of course, all Cybertronian names are easy to understand if you _know_ the people.

But their names are also telling – immediately upon hearing their designation, part of who they are was revealed to whoever it is that has heard their designations. Jazz's name, though, is not so telling. Yes, it told of his love for music. But it doesn't mention that that isn't even his favorite type of music, and it certainly didn't have anything to do with his personality (cunning, protective, and pyromaniac would be three words that could be applied to the sleek mech.) It has even less to do with his abilities, and Jazz likes it that way.

Because that was safe. Well, not completely safe, but safer than anything else, which is really all he wants. Because his programming isn't right – he's too violent to be considered normal, not that he really cares – and he can't ever remember being safe. There was the time he had been with his creators, but they had abandoned him to this hellhole, so he doesn't really think that counted as being _safe_.

Oddly enough, around Perceptor, he felt a little like he had back then. Not so much around Springer, who was still nice, but is much bigger than he is, and therefore much more dangerous. Perceptor, though, is smaller than him – not by much, but enough that Jazz would have the advantage should a fight become necessary. Perceptor still has battle programming, which Jazz doesn't (the only thing he is programmed for is blowing stuff up - but at least he is good at it.), so that's a little more dangerous, but Jazz has always liked danger. And, most importantly, Perceptor is nice. Not in the fake, bright way that most people are, but in that quiet way that says 'I'd help you stand up if you fell, even though I don't know your name and will never see you again in my life'.

So, yeah, Jazz likes Perceptor; and because of that, he also puts up with Springer when the green youngling is around. Which is quite often since, ya know, the two are practically welded together. They need to be - two enemies are much more dangerous than one, so they are safer when the other is around.

Jazz smirks, the idle type of smirk that makes people think he is up to something, even when he isn't (admittedly, it isn't often that he actually isn't up to something...) But that's not the point - the point is, he smirks, because sometimes life really sucks for him, and what can he do but laugh at it?

**Present**

Sideswipe is ecstatic. No, really – _ecstatic_. Maybe even jubilant, though he feels that may be taking things just a tad bit too far. Why? Simple, dear fellows – new people re coming. Which means new pranking opportunities. See – simple. Actually, he already has a prank set up (he is certain that Prowl knew he is planning something, but there is no proof, so there is nothing the strategist can do.

Jazz is the one guiding the newbies to the Ark, and with something similar to a giggle, Sideswipe darts off to mingle in the rec room (a.k.a. set up an alibi.) There are plenty of others there, waiting for Jazz to return. It is nearly three breems before they do, and surprisingly enough, Jazz isn't the first one to step into the rec room.

"Sideswipe? Red Alert isn't happy with you. You hit Inferno."

His intakes shutter, momentarily rejecting the energon he's been sipping on (and Perceptor had undoubtedly waited to say 'hello' until he'd taken a drink.) The red triple-changer's gaze skitters across the room, before landing on the resident 'mad scientist'.

"Ah, Wheeljack. Would you mind showing me how to reach the labs?"

Wheeljack doesn't, and before anyone can even ask a name, the two have wandered out, the engineer describing various projects he's started on recently and asking after the progress of technology that had taken place during the years the Ark had been in stasis. Finally, the melee warrior remembers that he can speak - and does.

"Aw, slag."

**9.4 Million Years Ago**

Springer can come up with quite a few different reasons for his actions. Jazz is nice, Jazz is a potential ally, Jazz seems to like Perceptor enough to put up with him, despite the fact that the two barely even spoke and are constantly watching each other. Any one of those would be good explanations. Just not good enough for Perceptor (Perceptor who always seems to see right through him. Undeniably, the red youngling had been well named.) In the end, the truth of the matter is that, Jazz had been cornered by three mechs much bigger than himself, which is practically a guarantee for pain. So Springer had helped.

Okay, so they still haven't been able to win the fight, but they have been able to escape, which counts for something. Not that Ratchet is going to care - Ratchet might try to make them stay with him until he is well, which neither Springer nor Perceptor like to do - it put Ratchet in danger, and Ratchet is their safe haven.

"Springer?"

"Yes?"

"Is Jazz coming with us?" Springer turns to his long-time friend with a look that says he has a deeply held suspicion that servos have been misplaced. "I mean… If we're going to be his friend, we ought to help him. He's hurt, just like you."

And Perceptor has a point. Ratchet isn't going to be happy - actually, he'll be furious at their injuries. (But will he kick them out if they bring a new person? Will he think that three is too much effort? Springer doesn't know. Isn't sure he wants to know.) But Perceptor seems determined to take Jazz with them (Jazz himself seems wary, unsure of their intentions.) The puff of air he sends out his vents is audible, a sign of frustration.

"Yeah, I guess so. We could all use some patching up." Ratchet is not going to be happy that he's been in another fight, no way in the Pit…


End file.
